Cormyr_ a novel - Ed Greenwood [7]
The baron stuck his forehead in mock woe. "I am crushed under the weight of the responsibility. It smites our shoulders like a falling castle turret!" The heavier of the cousins chuckled, then added in more normal tones, "No doubt the good mage delivered a five-volume report on Aunadar and the entire Bleth clan-every last high-nosed noble and illegitimate woodchopper among them, back to the dawn days of the kingdom."
The leather saddle creaked as he reined in his prancing mount and added more quietly, "I say let Tanny choose her own prince consort and be done with it. She was smart enough to see right through that proud flower of the Illance line… er, Martin?"
The duke smiled at the name. "Martin Frayault Illance, the most untrustworthy young noble in the kingdom. You know after Tanalasta rejected his entreaties, he got on his horse and rode hard and straight for Alusair? Of course, our elder princess had already told her sister all of Martin's favorite lines."
It was the baron's turn to smile. "I bet she broke both his arms."
"Dislocated a shoulder, actually," said the duke. "With a table that had the misfortune to be standing, all innocent like, outside the window he was hurled through." He snorted. "A month gone, and he was still telling folk he got it in a barroom brawl." His voice took on the brightness of an earnest young courtier who's just grasped one of the king's dry jokes a day or so after hearing it as he added, "Which was true, strictly speaking!"
The baron snorted loudly. "I never liked that Illance boy. He's got teeth like a werewolf-big incisors, the size of my thumb!-and he's always smiling, like he wants to show them off." He leered at the duke, cocked his head to one side, pointed at his teeth, and growled in mock lascivious tones, "Care to see what I ate last?"
As the duke snorted in amusement, Thomdor straightened in his saddle and growled, "Good thing neither lass showed him any favor. I'd hate to be hunting with that one."
"Probably there'd be a 'hunting accident' before long," Bhereu replied. "The sort that plagued the realm in the bad old days when Salember was regent. And if asked, I'd support the king's story about it, whatever the story was."
"I as well," the baron grunted.
The trail to the river narrowed before them, and Baron Thomdor had to fall back behind his brother's mount. Neither man had ceased his habitual, wary glances at the deep, damp, and watchful wood during the banter. They knew the king and Tanalasta's young suitor had already reached the riverbank near the ruins of an old beacon tower.
The king still could pass for a man of forty, if you discounted the gray streaks in his hair and beard. Still, he was as lean and well muscled as ever, and could still best both his cousins at arm-wrestling, fencing, riding, or any other sport either could name.
His riding leathers were his informal set: white leathers trimmed with purple, even the heavy boots and gloves. His court garb had been left at the lodge, a symbol that the general ceremony attendant on the crown should be set aside. Azoun's sword hung in a tattered scabbard on a weathered belt that one of the palace stewards would have consigned to the fire heap at a glance. The king wore a plain circlet on his brow, and an old, tattered brown scarf-a luck token from his queen-hid the hunting horn at his belt. Yet he rode like the great monarch he was, shoulders straight, quietly confident, clearly master of all around him without any need for arrogance or pomposity. As they came down the hill, both Thomdor and Bhereu were struck with the noble bearing of the man who was both their king and cousin.
The youth who rode beside Azoun seemed dim by comparison, as did any mortal next to the King of Cormyr. On a crowded dance floor, young Aunadar probably cut a dashing figure, his boyish charm and gallant looks leavened with a serious, almost bookish demeanor. The youth wore dark ebon leathers trimmed